Raising an eyebrow, I smirk and say, "I guess he'll find out when I talk to him."
"I got it, Butch," Jim says, effectively dismissing him. The guy pauses a moment before he gives Jim a dark expression and stalks away. Once he's gone, I'm all too aware that I'm alone with Jim Stone now. He closes the distance between us, his bulking arms on display. I have to fight to remind myself that I'm annoyed with him. I'm flustered at the situation he's put me in, but above all, I'm terrified of what he's going to want me to do for him. I know nothing about this man or his club. I don't know a damn thing about this job he wants me to do.
"Say thank you." Jim's stupid-gorgeous gray eyes sparkle. I direct my attention from his eyes to his mouth, hoping I'll find that part of him less inviting, but it's a no-go. His lips are parted, and when he notices me looking, his tongue darts out, wetting them. I suck in a deep breath before regaining my composure and giving Ian's hand a reassuring squeeze.
"Is there a reason you're stopping me from feeding my boy?"
He's silent. Too silent and for too long. Ian takes a careful, slow step behind me and squeezes my hand back.
"Say thank you," he repeats. Now I'm sucking in a deep breath because his arrogance knows no bounds.
"Are you serious right now?" I shout, letting go of Ian's hand and closing the distance between me and Jim. I jab a finger toward my boy and step aside so the arrogant ass can see his face. "Look at my son. He's a little boy in a new town, and in case it's escaped you, he needs things like clothes and food and a roof over his head. All things I can't provide for him without a job. So how dare you bar me from getting a job in this town and then demand I thank you for the effort."
Jim grabs my arm and pulls me against him. I don't pull away, but I stay stock still and turn my face away, hoping he's not the kind of bastard who will hurt me in front of my kid. Jim's breath is hot and tangy against my cheek. Even though his grip on my arm doesn't hurt, I know all too well how that can change at any time.
"Let's get something straight, babe. You ain't got shit in this world except a kid who needs a whole lot more than he has right now, which is exactly why I made damn sure you won't find another job in this town. You might not like my methods, but everything I'm doing is to help you take care of that kid. From this point forward, you belong to Forsaken as long as you're in this town. You leave, you do so on your own--without the kid."
A mixed rush of anger and panic fills me and I push against him, but it does no good. Tears fill my eyes at the suggestion that he could take away my boy. I can't lose another kid. I won't watch another man take my child away. I'd rather die first.
"Stop fighting me and fucking listen," Jim says, his voice softer now. "I'm helping you. You work at the garage keeping shit straight and in the clubhouse keeping things clean. You're not here for sex, you won't be abused, and you won't lose your boy. You get on your feet and you want to leave, you can take him. But until you're stable enough to get him some real clothes and a place he can call home, you and that boy are under my protection and my supervision. You feel me?"
I can barely process what he's saying. He wants to help? People don't just do shit like that. There are always strings attached. Most clubs give their whores a little money here and there, depending on what they do for the club, but they don't employ them in the strictest sense of the word. I can't just ignore the repeated threats to take Ian from me, but I'm afraid I don't have a choice but to do as he says. In somebody else's life, this would be a godsend. In mine, it's how a nightmare begins. Jim's not the first man to offer me help to take care of my son. Ian will always wear the scars of that situation on his body for everybody to see. But mine? They're not visible--I'm the only one who knows they're there. No matter how much time passes, they'll always be there.
"Do I have another choice?"
"Don't like the deal, I already spelled the other choice out for you."
"Fine. When do I start?" My voice shakes with an anger and fear that brings me back to the last man who made me an offer I had no choice but to accept.
"Now. Trash bags on the bar," he says, hitching his thumb over his shoulder toward the clubhouse behind him. His other hand frees me from his grip, and he takes a few steps backward. "Place is a mess."
Before he can get too far away, I find myself wanting to say something to him, no, needing to say something. I might be his pawn right now, but that doesn't mean I have to be silent. My voice is steady and loud when I say, "Maybe you're just trying to help. Maybe not. But I won't ever forget that threat you just made."
CHAPTER 6
June 1997